His Moment
by Stoned Snail
Summary: My version of The Kiss as seen through Sawyer's eyes. How could she make him feel so much with a single look, a single kiss?


**Disclaimer**: Lost ain't mine.

**A/N:** Hi there. This is **Kate/Sawyer**, and it was inspired by the look on his face during the kissing scene in episode 8. Oh, man, that look. Excuse me while I go swoon…

„Hell, it's only first base. Lucky for you, I ain't greedy." He smiled with practiced carelessness.

Everything faded away. The pain, the heat, the noises. His mind was a total blank, his only thought that he _needed_ this woman to kiss him right now. It was totally absurd, this wealth of emotion, this near desperation he was feeling after only a few short days.

He kept watching her, trying to remember the last time he'd wanted a woman this badly. He couldn't. For that matter, he couldn't remember ever having to blackmail a girl into kissing him, he thought wryly in some distant corner of his mind. His head was still throbbing, but he hardly noticed.

All his senses were attuned to the woman standing before him, and the conflict in her eyes. He could practically hear her think. Okay, so he was a disgusting, evil-hearted bastard, but Shannon needed her medicine more than she did her pride.

For the first time in ages, he felt bad for deceiving somebody, for giving them false hopes. Maybe it was because they were two of the same kind; maybe it was the fact that on the whole of this godforsaken island, she was the only one who even made an effort to understand him, and the only one who possibly could, or maybe it was simply the knowledge that once she knew, she would never touch him again. He didn't know, and he didn't care.

"Okay." It was a trivial word, something you hear or say at least a dozen times everyday. But right at that moment, it was the nicest word in the world. This was his moment.

He closed his eyes briefly, repeating the word to suppress a sigh of relief or hope or he didn't know what. He just knew he didn't want her to notice.

She knelt down before him, searching his eyes, and he closed them again before she could figure him out. And sitting there like that, feeling her breath on his face as she slowly leaned into him, he could make himself forget about everything. About the past, about the future, about the bitterness and the pain. He kissed her back, careful not to let any of his emotions shine through and well knowing that he could never completely succeed. Not with her.

There was nothing except the two of them, and he revelled in it. And she did, too. He could feel it.

But it was over all too soon. She pulled back, her pretty eyes boring into his again with that half expectant, half pleading expression, and he felt his gut twist, but he couldn't even work up enough care to get angry at himself for letting his guard down. He was still totally immersed in her, and he thought that telling her the truth was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do.

But he did. In the end, it was almost a matter of self-preservation. Because look at what she could do to him with a simple look, a simple kiss. He didn't want to find out what she could do to him if he truly let her close.

So he did his best to force away the lump in his throat, the burning behind his eyes, and said it. "I don't have it."

"What?"

How could she make him _feel_ so much with a single look? How could she diminish him to the worst version of himself with just the power of her eyes?

But he refused to let it show, to let her see that he _wasn't_ that cold.

"The medicine. I don't have it. Never did."

And with those words, her eyes went shuttered and cool again, as they always were around him, and he knew his moment was over. All of his torments returned tenfold, and he almost felt a little glad when she elbowed him across the face. Sure, it hurt, but he deserved it. And better from her than from anybody else; she was the only one who remotely knew the truth about who, about _what_ he was.

He knew she'd get Holy Jack, and he'd probably get something worse than toothpicks under his nails, although that _had_ hurt like a bitch, but he didn't care. Caring time was over.

He'd had his moment.

Okay, just wanted to add that this is the first time I've tried to do a one-shot, and also the first of my efforts for Lost. So please be gentle if you can. Constructive criticism is appreciated, though.


End file.
